


Don’t You Forget About Me

by xSpookyxSpicex



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Billy Hargrove Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Blow Jobs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Gay Billy Hargrove, Good Babysitter Steve Harrington, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Masturbation, Memory Loss, Mutual Masturbation, Slow Burn, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29322522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xSpookyxSpicex/pseuds/xSpookyxSpicex
Summary: Seven months after the incident at Starcourt, Billy wakes up from a coma alive and well. There’s only one problem: he’s lost an entire year of his memory. He doesn’t remember anything about Starcourt, or the Up-Side-Down, or even Hawkins. He doesn’t even remember why he’s in Hawkins in the first place. All he knows is that he’s in a strange town and he’s being taken care of by a pretty boy.The crazy part? He thinks they were friends.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove/Original Male Character(s), Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 102





	1. Prologue

He’s having a nightmare. That’s all he can really call it. There’s a monstrous creature before him made of flesh, blood, and bone. Fireworks burst all around him in a multicoloured massacre. There’s a girl there. Thirteen years old with curious brown eyes. She’s scared. He’s holding her down in a struggle and no matter how hard she fights he fights back harder. But it’s not him. It’s as if his body is not his own. There’s a voice in the back of his head—his own voice—screaming: _Stop it! Please stop! You’re hurting her!_

His body doesn’t listen.

That’s when her eyes meet his.

“Seven feet,” she says. “You told her the wave was seven feet. You ran to her…on the beach. There were seagulls. She wore a hat with a blue ribbon…a long dress with a blue and red flower. Yellow…yellow sandals, covered in sand. She was pretty. She was really pretty. And you were happy.”

For the briefest of moments he’s reliving that last day of his long lost innocence. Suddenly, he’s seven years old again and he can see her smiling at him and dancing in circles on the beach. He can almost feel the warmth of the sun on his face and the softness of her hand when she strokes his still wet hair.

Billy rises to his feet. The monster rears its ugly head and opens its large mouth to reveal layers upon layers of teeth and several cadaver tongues that charge at him. He raises his hands. Amid the agony, all he can see are shapes and shadows through blackened tears. Max’s voice echoes in the distance, calling his name.

Finally, everything goes black.


	2. Seven Months Sleep

_What the hell happened last night?_

It was the 4th of July, he remembers. He was on the boardwalk with the gang, watching the fireworks, dancing at the concert, playing games at the fair, riding the merry-go-round with David. But how much did he drink that night? Did someone slip something in his drink? What is he doing in a hospital?

Billy wakes up in a white room that smells of soap and sunflowers. There is a throbbing pain throughout his heavy body and somehow it’s his chest that sees the worst of it, as though someone or some _thing_ has stabbed him in the heart. It almost hurts to breathe. When he manages to look down at himself he sees countless tubes and wires coming out of him but that isn’t what terrifies him the most. What makes him gasp is the enormous scar on his left arm and then a similar scar on the right. It’s as if his arms have been chewed by some wild animal.

He looks to his left to find a bedside table with a vase of wilting sunflowers— _gay_ —and a pile of envelopes resting on top of a box of chocolates and what looks to be a Christmas present. In July.

_Why is it snowing in July?_

Billy musters as much strength as he can to reach for the envelopes, opens every last one and reads all of the get-well-soon cards in one sitting. He immediately recognizes Max’s messy handwriting.

_July 11th._

_Hi, Billy!_

_I don’t know when or if you’ll read this. You’ve been asleep for a week now and the doctors say it might be a while before wake up, but I wanted to write you a card so you’ll have something to read when you do. I hope you’re okay._

_You saved our lives, Billy. Thank you._

_Max._

_August 15th._

_Happy Birthday, Billy!_

_Neil said not to bother getting you a birthday present, since the nurse said there was a chance you might not wake up, but mom and I got you some sunflowers. I know they’re your favourites. I wanted to get you that new Megadeth album you’ve been saving up for, but she said there was no point, since you’re still asleep._

_Max._

_September 3rd._

_Hey, Billy!_

_It was my first day of high school today. That’s probably just as weird to you as it is to me. It was weird having Neil drop me off instead of you. He’s a bigger asshole than you, but he’s not as funny and he has shit taste in music._

_Please wake up soon, Billy. I don’t think I can take listening to Barry Manilow any longer._

_Max._

_October 31st._

_Happy Halloween, Billy!_

_The Byers moved to Mexico City a couple of weeks ago. I miss them, but I miss you even more._

_The party and I are going as superheroes for Halloween. I think you’d approve ‘cause we look pretty killer._

_The nurse told me that the coma is persistent, which means you might not wake up, but I really hope you do._

_Max._

_November 13th._

_Happy Thanksgiving, Billy!_

_Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t the same without you. I kinda miss the arguing, if you can believe it. I wanted to leave you some leftovers, but Neil told me not to bother ‘cause it’d just go to waste._

_Wake up soon, Billy._

_Max._

_December 25th._

_Merry Christmas, Billy!_

_I hope you like your present. I know how much you loved the last book. I thought it would be something nice for you to read when you wake up._

_Please, please,_ _please_ _wake up!_

_Max._

_January 1st._

_Happy New Year, Billy!_

_Please wake up, Billy. I miss you._

_Max._

_P.S. The chocolates are from Steve. I think I’ll ask him to drop me off to school from now on. He likes Queen._

Questions burst in Billy’s head like fireworks. Where is he? _When_ is he? What happened to him? How long has he been asleep? Saved who’s lives? When did Megadeth release a new album? Did Max skip a grade?What are Byers? What party? Who the hell is Steve?

As if it will give him an answer, Billy reaches for the present on his bedside table and rips open the red and green wrapping paper. It’s a book; _The Vampire Lestat_ by Anne Rice. He recognizes both those names. Just last month he’d finished reading _Interview with the Vampire_ and had been haunted by its chilling prose ever since, though he never thought he’d see the flamboyant villain’s name on the cover of his own book. When had Mrs. Rice even written another book? Opening the first page, he manages to find a date.

1985.

_What the fuck?_

* * *

Max receives the phone call on a Saturday afternoon. _Hello, is Mr. or Mrs. Hargrove available? William just woke up_. Feeling a joyful jolt in her stomach, she immediately calls Steve, who isn’t doing anything in particular when he answers the call.

“Steve?” Max’s voice sounds on the verge of tears and she continues to blubber out a mess of wordsthat he doesn’t understand.

“Max, slow down. Breathe with me, okay? Breathe. What happened?”

“It’s Billy,” she says. “He’s awake.”

Everything seems to stand still for a moment. Steve can’t move. All he can see is Billy’sbroken body falling limply to the ground, bleeding black and choking out his last words: “I’m sorry.” It’s all he’s ever seen and heard since the 4th of July. It isn’t the first time a memory of Billy Hargrove has haunted him. Sometimes he could still feel his fists cracking against his face.

“Steve? Steve!”

“Yeah,” he snaps out of the haunted memory. “What do you need?”

“My parents are both working. Can you drive me to the hospital?”

Steve says yes only because he doesn’t know what else to say, so he heads straight for his Beamer and to the Hargrove house. Max’s face is almost as red as her hair when she sees Steve. She’s been crying and he isn’t sure whether it’s out of sorrow or joy. Truth be told, he doesn’t quite know how to feel either.

It isn’t that he _wanted_ the bastard to die. He just didn’t want him around.

When they make it to the hospital, Max insists on buying flowers. “I’ll pay you back,” she promises. “It’s just that the last bunch I gave him are probably dead by now and sunflowers are his favourite.”

Steve didn’t know that Billy had a favourite flower.

When they make it to the hospital bed, Steve hardly recognizes Billy. His dirty blond shag of hair has now grown past his shoulders and he’s grown a half-full beard. He almost looks ten years older than his eighteen years but there’s still a youthful glimmer in his big blue eyes.

His eyes widen when he sees Max with Steve. Before a word can escape his lips, Max rushes straight towards her older step-brother and hugs him. Billy just sits there, speechless, like he’s never been hugged before.

“Hey, Billy,” Max almost sobs. “How are you feeling?”

Billy just stares at Max. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

“Stupid question, I know. The doctors said you’d be feeling weird when you woke up. One of the nurses said that comas can be…protected?”

“P-p-protracted—dummy.”

“Protracted, yeah. I don’t really know what that means, but it sounded bad. She made it sound like you weren’t gonna wake up, but I knew you would.”

Billy smiles weakly and looks around the room as if he’s never seen a hospital room before. This is far from his first trip to a hospital and yet he looks like a fish out of water. He stops to look at Steve for a while until he turns to the window. Somehow, it’s the window that confuses him the most. “W-why is it snowing?”

Max furrows her brow. “It’s January.”

“N-no, that—that can’t be right. It doesn’t snow here, unless—w-w-where am I? And who is that?” Billy nods towards Steve, who is just as confused as both of the Hargrove siblings.

“That’s Steve, remember? He’s a friend.”

Billy’s jaw clenches. “He’s a bit _old_ to be your friend.”

Steve raises his hands as if he’s just been confronted by another army of Russians. “I’m more of a babysitter.”

“Billy,” Max interjects. “You _know_ Steve. You go to school together, remember?”

Billy looks Steve up and down. “If you say so, Max.”

Max’s forehead is now fully wrinkled, as though she’d just aged fifty years in five seconds. “You seriously don’t remember him?”

“Should I?”

“But you remember _me_ , right?”

“Unfortunately.”

Steve scoffed. Trust Billy Hargrove to wake up from a coma to the (undeserved) love and care of his step-sister only to spit in her face.

“Billy,” Max said slowly. “Do you know where you are?”

Billy shrugs and looks around. “I wanna say hell but I don’t see Byron anywhere, so if I had to guess, I’d say a hospital. Which one is it this time? LA Community or Dignity Health?"

Max’s eyes suddenly go as wide as saucers. “Oh, my God!”

“You’re in Hawkins Memorial Hospital,” says Steve. “You’ve been in a coma for seven months now.”

Billy looks to Steve and shakes his head. “No, that’s impossible! What happened to me?"

“You had an accident,” Max tells him. “On the 4th of July, remember?”

“No. Was I drunk?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What kind of accident?”

“You don’t remember?”

Billy shakes his head.

“Billy, what’s the last thing you remember? I mean, the _very_ _last_ thing.”

He thinks a moment. “I remember it was the 4th of July. I was at the beach with the gang, there was a party on the boardwalk with a concert, there were fireworks, there was beer, there was weed—maybe too much weed. I think I went home. Yeah, I remember going home ‘cause—Is David here? Wait, Max, why are you crying?”

Max doesn’t answer. She only stares at her step-brother as though he is a complete stranger to her.


	3. Amnesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Before I start this chapter, I want to start off with a couple of apologies: firstly, I am not a doctor, so I apologize for any medical inaccuracies. Secondly, I also apologize if the uploading process of this story is a little slow. The pandemic hasn’t been kind to my mental health, so forgive me if I might need a break every now and then to take care of myself. Thank you for understanding and love you all!

“At some point during the coma,” explains Dr. Owens. “Billy experienced a bit of trouble. His brain was deprived of oxygen, but thankfully only for a short while. Any longer than four to six minutes and he might not have regained consciousness. We managed to help him out, but it looks like the lack of oxygen to the brain has resulted in amnestic syndrome.”

“Amnesia?” Max asks, eyes still red raw from crying. “Like in the movies?”

“Not exactly. Most people who suffer from amnesia still know who they are and can remember some things and it doesn’t affect their intelligence, judgement, personality…”

“That’s a shame,” mutters Steve, who is immediately met with a hard nudge to the ribs.

“It’s just more recent memories that seem lost to them and they might struggle with short term memory. Some people can lose days to years of their memory, depending on how severe the cause was. In Billy’s case, he can’t seem to remember anything past the 4th of July, 1984.”

“So he can’t remember _anything_ from the past year?”

“Nothing.”

Steve rests a hand on Max’s shoulder in comfort, though she hardly looks in need of it. Her face is practically a blank slate in spite of the puffed cheeks and dried tears.He has to ask: “Will he get his memory back?”

“Usually, people recover after a good six to nine months, though it really depends on the severity of the damage.”

“What do you mean ‘usually?’”

Dr. Owens pauses for a sip of his coffee as if it’s spiked with bourbon. “Some people don’t regain their memory at all.”

Max heaves a shaking sigh and it sounds almost like a sigh of relief. “So, what can we do to help him?”

“Well, there’s really no specific treatment for amnesia. Sometimes memories recover naturally and others might need a little help. The best way to help him recover is to find ways to keep his mind active, like puzzles, books, card games, some people try out a new activity or learn a new language. Music can be therapeutic as well and some people even find dancing helpful.”

Steve tried to picture Billy dancing and the thought alone almost made him laugh.

“The best thing you can do,” Dr. Owens continued. “Is to be patient with him. It could be a long time before his memory can fully recover. It’s also important that he avoid excessive drinking, recreational drug use, and any stressful situation that might trigger any traumas.”

Max nods and bites her lip, deep in thought. Her eyes meet Steve’s, questioning. _What do we do now? How do we do it? Who can help him?_

“Dr. Owens,” says Steve. “Can we have a moment alone?”

Dr. Owens nods and leaves the two to decide what is to be done with Billy.

“He can’t go back home,” Max says without a moment’s thought. Steve can tell by the way she plants her feet that she does not mean it as a complaint. It’s a firm choice. “We have to take him to the cabin.”

* * *

Billy can’t stop staring at the book in his hands. It is almost identical to its otherwise well-thumbed predecessor, which was gold and riddled with cracks and creases, even the occasional photograph in the place of a bookmark. This new book, however, is red and unsullied by rough hands flipping through page after page of a good ten or so reads. As he opens the book, he lifts it to the level of his nose and closes his eyes before inhaling that familiar scent of a good book, that perfect blend of wood pulp and vanilla. Instead, there is only the smell of glue, paper, and ink.

 _Interview with the Vampire_ had that old book smell the day he brought it home.

He was sixteen when he found it in a used bookstore that he can’t remember the name of. All he remembers is that smell, the book he’d been eyeing for God knew how long, and the guy at the front desk reading _The Picture of Dorian Gray._ Billy must have been flipping through the book in his hands for the best part of an hour; when he wasn’t checking out the guy at the desk, of course, who was probably tired of seeing some random teenager debating whether or not he should just buy the damn book. Billy wanted to—really, he did—only he’d just spent his last penny on food. _A fucking cheeseburger, of all things,_ he thought. _Over a book like_ this? _You’re an idiot, Billy Hargrove!_

Billy looked one last time to the guy at the desk and then back to the book in his hands.There was an on-going debate between the devil on his left shoulder and the angel on his right. _You can do it,_ said the devil. _You’ve done it before. You can do it again._ But the angel protested: Don’t do it! _You know what Neil would say if you got caught._

The devil won easily.

Without thinking, Billy stuffed the book into his jacket and marched towards the door.

“You gonna pay for that?”

The guy’s voice was as warm and thick as hot chocolate spiced with cinnamon on a rainy day. Billy silently cursed himself. God, if only there had been a few more people in the store at the time. “Pay for what?”

The guy cocked his head. “Don’t play dumb with me, kid.”

Kid? Billy was sixteen and a half, thank you very much. He was no kid. Besides, this guy couldn’t have been much more than a year older than he was. Still, the guy swung his long, leather-clad legs from the desk, tossed his book aside and stepped towards him. He was a head taller than Billy, though some of that height was his massive shag of dark hair, and he was looking him up and down with sharp green eyes that were lined with kohl. He found himself strangely hypnotized by the charm dangling from the guy’s left ear.

“Think I haven’t seen that old trick before? Hand it over.”

“Why should I?” _Shit!_ “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

“You know,” the guy scoffed. “I’ve actually had a pretty long day and I’m _really_ not in the mood to get into any kind of fight right now, least of all with some random prick trying to fuck with me. I can see the book through your jacket and to be really honest with you, I kinda _like_ having a job and I don’t want to lose it to some kid. Now, hand it over before I call the police.”

Billy felt those jade green eyes piercing through him, as if one look into his owneyes could see every single sin and secret he’d ever kept in his life. It was unbearable. Sighing heavily, he took the book from the pocket of his jacket, and handed it to the guy, whose full lips were now curved into a wicked smirk.

“I’ll give you some credit,” he said. “I can’t quite blame you for wanting to take _this_ one home.”

“You’ve read it?”

“Yeah, I love Anne Rice. Couldn’t sit down for a week after her _Sleeping Beauty_ book.”

Billy’s face were suddenly warm. He’d heard of the author’s latest novel and although the thought of taking a woman in her sleep and whisking her away to a world of kinky kingdoms did nothing for him, it was the thought of the guy standing in front of him in such a scenario that turned his cheeks as red as cherries.

“For the record,” he gulped, trying to shake his head of the mental image. “I wasn’t trying to fuck you over. I just can’t afford the book.”

Something in the guy’s face softened, as he looked at Billy, then at the book, and then back at Billy. The book was only five bucks. “Got a job?”

“No.”

“Want one?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“There’s a diner across the road that’s looking for a busboy. Tell ‘em David recommended you. Now, could you kindly fuck off? I gotta close up.”

Billy nodded and was off like a shot, but not before one last look at the guy, who he could have _sworn_ had just winked at him. On his way out on the streets, he had to admit that he was just a touch disappointed. For a split second he’d hoped he’d be working with the guy, but at least now he knew his name.

* * *

“Tell me why we’re doing this again?”

“I’ve told you a thousand times,” Max sighs. “The doctor said it’s important that Billy avoids drugs, booze, or any kind of stress that’d bring that on. Bringing him home will just take him down that route and make matters worse.”

“Worse for who; him or us?

“Excuse me, asshole,” Billy calls from the back seat. “I’m right here.”

“Sorry,” Steve mutters and takes a right turn from Cherry St. “Anyway, when did _I_ volunteer to babysit an eighteen-year-old?”

Max rolls her eyes. “Uh, probably sometime in between me being in my first year of high school and you actually graduating from said high school with only a part-time job to keep you busy.”

“Gee, thanks for that.”

“My point is that _someone’s_ gotta look after him and I don’t see the rest of the party lining up for the job.”

“Still here, y’know!”

Steve takes another right turn. “I still don’t get why we can’t just take him home.”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Max’s voice is louder now, though she speaks through gritted teeth. “Billy isn’t safe with Neil!”

“Am I invisible!?”

“Sorry,” Max says sincerely. “It’s just you’re a bit quieter than usual.”

“Well, I’m not sure if you’ve ever been in my shoes, _Maxine_ , but it’s kinda hard to gossip when you’re in the back of a stranger’s car in some random hick town and I may be a little brain-damaged, but I’m not deaf, so you can stop talking about me as if I’m not here.”

“Okay,” Max turns to her step-brother and tries to speak a little more slowly, as if she’s talking to a child. “First of all, Steve’s a friend; second, you’re in Hawkins, Indiana. We moved here a little over a year ago.”

Billy looks almost like a lost puppy when he looks out the window to the unfamiliar streets surrounded by woods and fields. Steve can just see a few glimpses of the poor boy’s knit brow and wide eyes, almost as if he’s about to cry. It pains him to admit it—even if only to himself—but he can’t help but feel bad for the guy.

“We live here now?”

“Yeah,” Max nods. “It’s really not so bad, y’know.”

“Are you kidding me? This place is a frozen shit-hole! Why is it so cold? I’m freezing my ass off here!"

“But there’s all kinds of cool stuff! There’s an arcade with all kinds of games, there’s a movie theatre that plays old movies, and Steve’s got a pool!”

Steve bites his lip at the very mention of the pool in his back yard. He hasn’t dipped a toe in that bright blue pit since the night Barb went missing.

“But,” Billy’s voice begins to crack. “Why?”

“I dunno, his parents are really rich and he used to swim a lot…”

“No, Max, why are we here?”

Max said nothing for all but a minute. Steve kept waiting for a response to a question that doesn’t seem all that difficult to answer. Finally, she says something. “My mom got a promotion.”

Everyone knows that’s a downright lie.

The rest of the drive is awkward until they reach the woods. Billy looks around, counting tree after tree until the multiply into tens, then twenties, then thirties. He was never one for the woods. There was something eerie about naked trees that looked almost like skeletal arms reaching for him, like monsters out of a wicked fairy tale, and he wasn’t too keen on the idea of getting so easily lost in a wooded maze without a breadcrumb in sight.

And there it is. The cabin is bigger than he expected it to be. He isn’t sure why he pictured a broken down shack covered in moss and fungi, but there it was: a small yet sweet cottage in the woods that, in any book that he’d ever read, would likely house a little old lady stirring potions in a pot or waiting to be devoured by wolves.

Billy feels warmer already when the door is opened. The cabin looks like any other cabin. He remembers going to one cottage vacation in his life when he was seven and it looked something like this very little house in the middle of the forest: old photographs on wooden walls, taxidermied woodland critters decorating the rooms, a small kitchen with a little red table for two, an old television before a broken down sofa, and a bookshelf. The bookshelf is what draws him in the most. It isn’t a very large one and the collection of books isn’t much to write home about either, mostly old copies of classics laced with the occasional pulp horror.

“It’s not California,” Max admits. “But it’s good enough.”

“You’re right.”

“I am?”

Billy nods. “It’s not California.”

Max wants to protest, tell her stupid step-brother that it’s better than staying under Neil’s roof, to take it and be grateful, but she doesn’t. She just bites her lip.

“Is there a phone somewhere?” asks Billy.

“Uh, yeah. Why?”

“I wanna call David. Tell him what happened.”

Butterflies shoot up from the pit of Max’s stomach. “Uh, actually it’s late. He’s probably asleep right now.”

“It’s seven o’-clock.”

“In our time zone, maybe. In California, it’s probably, like, midnight.”

Billy squints and looks Max up and down, huffs, and searches for a phone.

“Nice one, Max,” Steve mutters, as he brings in the groceries they’d picked up on the way. “Your mom got a promotion? To do what? Wait more tables?”

“I had to say _something_.”

“What’s wrong with the truth?”

Max doesn’t want to answer that question.

“Who’s David, anyway? Friend of his?”

“Yeah,” Max only half-lies. “Something like that.”

“Okay, Agatha Christie, if you’re gonna be so vague about it all.”

Max could crack a joke. She could tell some fantastical story about why they had to move from California to Hawkins, possibly involving witches and wizards fighting some kind of monster, but she fears even that would be saying too much.

“Look,” she says with a heavy sigh. “A lot of things happened back in California; a lot of bad things. It’s best you don’t know the whole story. Same for Billy.”

Steve watches as Billy tries again and again to dial the same number to no avail. “Max,” he says quietly. “Whatever it is, he’s going to remember, eventually.”


	4. Friends and Foes

Billy barely sleeps a wink that night. It’s almost impossible to sleep when your mind is riddled with thoughts and full of questions. The nightmares don’t help either. Every time he so much as closes his eyes, all he can see are the visions of a large spider-like monster made up of what looks to be human remains, followed by the harrowing echoes of a girl’s cry. At some point in this horrible dream, he’s almost certain he sees his mother. She’s wearing that white dress and dancing on the beach while he’s wading through the ocean blue. _She was pretty,_ he hears the girl weep. _You were happy._ Then he wakes up in a cold sweat. 

Eventually, he gives up. He spends the rest of the night staring at the ceiling. 

In the morning, he hears a creaking sound coming from the kitchen, which he at first assumes to be the little old house itself, until he smells something sweet. He stumbles out of bed, slips on a dirty old t-shirt, and follows the sweet scent into the kitchen. 

“G’morning,” chirps a familiar voice. It’s the pretty boy from yesterday. _Pretty boy._

“Steve, right?” The pretty boy nods. “What are you doing?”

“I’m fighting an army of demo-dogs, what does it look like I’m doing?” Billy just stares. _What the fuck is a demo-dog?_ Steve clears his throat. “I’m making breakfast.”

It takes a moment for Billy to realize that Steve is wearing the same sweatshirt and jeans as yesterday. When he looks around, he notices that there are pillows and blankets on the sofa. “Did you _sleep_ here?”

“Max didn’t want you sleeping alone.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “So she left me in the hands of a stranger? That’s promising.”

Steve seems close to yelling at Billy until shuts his mouth tight, making his full lips appear thinner. “For the last time,” he says after a calming breath. “I’m not a stranger. Now, eat something. Your waffles are getting cold.”

Billy isn’t hungry, but complies, as he seats himself at the tiny red table near the kitchen. Steve offers a plate of Eggos with syrup, a few berries, and a mug of hot cocoa. “Sorry about that,” he says. “I bet you were expecting coffee, but…” 

“It’s okay.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause I can always buy some…”

“No, really, it’s okay.”

Steve says nothing more of it, as Billy finds himself staring into the dark yet milky substance steaming in his cup and inhaling what he can of its bittersweet aroma. 

David liked hot cocoa. 

Billy thought that strange, at first, when he saw a familiar face at the diner barely a day after he got the job. He still remembers how violently his pulse quickened when he saw that smirk. As David took his seat at the bar, Billy tried—and failed—to keep his palms from sweating when he took his order. The American Berry waffles with a cup of hot cocoa.

Billy has to raise an eyebrow at this, even as he wrote down the order with a trembling hand. He never would have pegged this bookstore gutter punk in ripped jeans, an old AC/DC t-shirt, a spiked leather jacket, and a fucking earring as such a sweet tooth. 

He may or may not have said that out loud.

“Well, what can I say? I could always do with something sweet and…well, there you are.”

Billy’s cheeks were suddenly redder as rubies and hotter than hell and he was almost certain it showed, judging by the way David was smirking at him. By some miracle, he managed to laugh it off. “Is that your best pick-up line?”

David shrugged. “It’s up there with the best of ‘em. I’m saving my very best for the right time.”

“And when’s that?”

“Gimme my hot cocoa and maybe I’ll tell you.”

Billy did just that and for a while, the two just talked. They didn’t talk about anything in particular and to this day, he can’t even remember what their conversation was about. All he remembers is how good it felt to talk to someone who actually _wanted_ to talk to him. No screaming, no fighting, no throwing things. It felt more like home than home. David was nice. He was funny, he was smart, and he was a little bit weird, but he was nice.

Until Joe—the diner’s manager—butt in.

“Hey, Billy, mind flirting with the customers on your own time? Table nine’s still waiting on their burgers.”

Billy bit his lip, not realizing that he’d been talking to David for almost half an hour. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I gotta get back to work.”

David nodded. Billy tried to work as quickly as he could so he could get back to their conversation as soon as possible, but as soon as he had finished taking orders and waiting tables, David was nowhere to be seen. One ring of that little brass bell above the door and he was gone. _Shit!_ Sighing heavily, he returned to the bar to put away the now empty plate and mug that David had left behind, only to find a twenty-dollar bill and a book sitting next to them. _Interview with the Vampire_ by Anne Rice. 

Billy couldn’t help but smile when he opened the book. On the inside cover was a note written in pencil: _Fangs for the cocoa! David. XOXO. 217-2753._

 _Hell of a tip,_ he thought. 

“You okay?”

Billy snaps out of the memory. The mug of hot cocoa in his hand is now lukewarm. “Yeah, I just…thanks.”

Steve says nothing of it. Not even a simple “you’re welcome.” 

As they sit down to eat, the awkward silence between them is lulled only by the sound of the cuckoo clock ticking. _Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

“You didn’t have to do all this, y’know.”

“If it helps,” Steve says with a shrug. “I do so begrudgingly.”

Billy isn’t sure whether Steve is joking or not, but he laughs quietly nonetheless. 

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

“So, you know Max.”

“Well observed.”

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

“Do _we_ know each other?”

“In a way, yeah. We went to school together. You beat my keg record.” Billy can’t help but feel somewhat proud of himself. “That’s kind of how we met.”

“How did we meet?”

Steve takes a deep breath, as if he’s about to tell a long and complicated story. “Well,” he begins. “It was Halloween. You were new in town at the time and everyone was fawning over you, especially after your keg stand, so some old friends introduced us and that was it.” 

“That _can’t_ have been it.”

“I’m telling you, that was it.”

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

Somehow, and he doesn’t know how, Billy knows for sure that is a downright lie. As they continue to eat and the clock keeps on ticking, he finds himself observing how the other boy bites even harder on his lip than he had earlier, as if to fight back the urge to growl. It’s a little annoying, though not quite as annoying as the way he clenches his jaw. Billy can almost hear Steve’s teeth grinding. It becomes unbearable. “Okay, what’d I do?”

“What?”

“You’re angry with me.”

“I’m not!” 

“Don’t lie to me, Steve.”

“I’m not lying…”

Billy could smack this guy. “Y’know, it’s bad enough to lose an entire year of your memory and I can deal with Max’s vague answers as to where I am and why I’m here because she’s always been a little shit, but it really pisses me off when someone serves me breakfast when they look like they’d rather punch me in the face and I don’t even know what I did to deserve that.”

Steve stares at Billy for some time. His mouth opens once or twice, but nothing comes out. “You’re right,” he finally says. “In my defense, I think I have a right to be angry, but it’s not fair on you to leave you in the dark about it, especially when you’re already in the dark about…well, everything.”

“No, it’s not. So, what did I do?”

Steve licks his lips. “We, uh…we fought…over a girl.”

“Steve, c’mon.”

“It’s the truth!” It isn’t entirely a lie. “It’s complicated, but you were looking for this girl, you found her with me, we argued, I tried to tell you that it wasn’t what you thought it was, you didn’t believe me, so you pushed me to the ground, you got mad at her, I tried to stop you from hurting anyone, and you…well, you beat me up bad. Like, _real_ bad.”

There’s something off about this story. “I beat the shit out of you over some stupid _girl?”_

“Look, I know how it sounds, but that is what happened. Honest! You did a real number on me, man. I still get migraines every now and then because of it.”

Now, that doesn’t seem too out of character for him. Billy sighs heavily. “I’m sorry.”

Steve’s body made a sudden jolt and he was now looking at Billy with wide eyes and a pale face. He looks as if he’s just seen a ghost. “What?”

“I’m sorry. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say when you hurt a friend?”

Steve sits frozen in his seat, staring at Billy as if he’s just grown an extra head. He sits frozen in his seat for some time—probably a good five minutes—to the point that he’d probably fall stiff to the ground if someone were to poke him in the chest. 

_Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!_

The strike of the cuckoo clock seems to snap him out of his trance.“Shit,” he mutters and takes one bite out of his half-eaten waffle. “I gotta run.”

“Where are you going?”

“Work.” Steve rushes to slip on his coat, scarf, and gloves. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back later, I promise, and Max is coming here with some of your stuff today, too, so don’t go wandering anywhere. Do you want me to pick anything up for you while I’m out? Food? Drink? Video? Book? Do you like comic books? What about board games? I can get you some…”

“Breathe.”

Steve does exactly that. Deep breath in, long breath out. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” His voice goes up an octave or few. “Peachy keen!”

Billy takes a good look at Steve, whose left arm is now in the right sleeve of his coat. Standing from his seat, he steps towards him, slips the coat from his arm, and places it onto his back where it belongs. It’s almost like dressing a child and it’s kind of…cute? 

“Thanks,” Steve says. Finally, there’s a smile on the pretty boy’s face. It’s a weak smile, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Billy thinks Steve is prettier when he smiles, especially when he smiles like that. “I, uh, I gotta go.”

And he’s gone.

* * *

Steve spends the better part of his workday staring into space. Anything that Keith or Robin has to say seems to go on one ear and out the other. Even the complaints of customers fall on deaf ears. All he can hear is the same question that’s been echoing in his head all day. What the hell happened this morning?

 _Billy,_ says a voice in the back of his head. _That’s what happened._

Billy Hargrove—the guy who looked at him at Tina’s Halloween party with nothing but loathing in his eyes; the guy who pushed and shoved him during basketball practice; the guy who constantly berated him in and out of class; the guy who beat the crap out of him at the Byers’ house; the guy who almost had the entire fucking town eaten by a giant shadow monster—had just called Steve Harrington his _friend_.

“Steve? Steve! Earth to Steve! Come in, Steve!”

Robin is still snapping her fingers when Steve is startled from his second dream-like state of the day. Only now does he remember that he’s still behind the counter. “Sorry, uh…where were we?”

“‘How are you?’” Robin squints. “What’s up with you today? You’ve had your head in the clouds since you got here.”

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind lately.”

“Too much for your little brain to take?” It’s his turn to squint now. “Sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Thanks, but you’ve got work to do.”

If Steve knows anything about Robin, it’s that she’s not one to take any kind of bullshit. “Hey, Keith!” she calls. “Steve and I are taking our break.”

Keith’s head pops out from the horror section like a gofer. “You already took your break, Buckley.”

“I know. Lady problems.”

No more questions are asked. Robin grabs Steve by the wrists and drags him into the staff room. “Okay, Harrington, tell me the story and don’t even think about sparing me the gory details.”

Steve takes a deep breath, both in and out, before telling the story. It is a long story, after all, and it feels longer. Most stories do, both the good and the bad. Robin listens closely and her stormy eyes widen with every twist and turn of the story.

When the story is over, she stares into space for a moment, as if to make sense of what she’s just been told. Eventually, she nods with a little: “Huh.”

“What?”

“Well,” she says. “Call me crazy, but it doesn’t seem like _that_ much of a stretch.”

“Seriously? Rob, he thinks we’re friends. _Friends!”_

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. I’m just saying he might have thought you were friends even before Starcourt. In his way, at least.”

“What are you talking about? The guy wouldn’t stop…”

“Pulling your pigtails?”

The expression startles him. It’s a common school phrase that he is all too familiar with. He’s seen old classmates blow spitballs at girls they like just to get their attention. Even when the girl in question is screaming and crying about the spitball in her hair, they still have her attention and that’s good enough for them. “Wait, you mean…?”

Robin nods as if it’s completely obvious. 

“You know that this is _Billy_ we’re talking about, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“Billy Hargrove?”

“I had English with the guy, Steve, I know who he is.”

“You really think he’s…y’know…?”

“Gay? Of course, I do, and you can say the word.”

Steve takes note of that. Sometimes he has to remind himself that he isn’t insulting Robin by calling her a lesbian, though she had made it clear a few times in the past that certain words were strictly prohibited. Which words, specifically, he can never remember for the life of him. “What makes you think that?”

Robin shrugs. “Takes one to know one, I guess.” 

“You think he likes me?”

“I do, actually.” 

Steve looks back to the day he first laid eyes on Billy. He’ll admit, there was something about the new kid and everyone knew it. Every girl wanted him and every boy wanted to be him. Steve, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel unsettled by his presence. There was something off about the way he looked at him. Especially in the showers after P.E. 

_Wait…_

He then made an almost inhuman noise that only vaguely resembled the sound of laughter. “Pffft, sure! That’s a good one, Rob, you should do stand-up.”

Robin was not joking.

* * *

Since he set foot in the cabin, Billy isn’t sure how many times he’s tried to call the same number only to be told: _We are sorry. You have reached a number that is disconnected or no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again_. Billy has heard it said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. If that’s true, then he must be losing his goddamn mind because he must have checked the number and tried to call again perhaps fifty times just to talk to him. All he wants is to hear that soft, sweet, spiced hot chocolate voice again.

He dials his number for the umpteenth time. _We are sorry. You have reached a number that is…_ “Damnit!”

Smashing the phone onto its cradle, he tugs at his dirty blond curls and fights back the painful swelling in the back of his throat.

Why isn’t he answering? They used to spend hours talking on the phone. Sometimes they’d be up all night. Christ, just last week—or last year, rather, fuck—they were yapping on the phone until dawn broke. God, he misses those calls. He can just hear Audrey teasing him when he first told her how long they were up the previous night.

 _Audrey,_ he thinks. _Of course!_

Billy quickly dials a different number and impatiently taps his toes at the electric ringing in his ear. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, pick up! Pick the fuck up!”

_“Lynch residence.”_

“Hi, is Audrey there?”

 _“Billy?”_ He could punch the air. Finally, a friendly voice. Audrey's usually sweet voice has gone sultry as if she’s just smoked a year’s worth of her precious Marlboros in one day. _“Is that you?”_

“No, it’s Queen Elizabeth, who do you think it is?”

 _“Well, I know it’s_ a _queen.”_

That’s the first thing that’s made him laugh in such a long time. He can just picture the girl’s blood-red lips stretched into that wicked smile and her icy blue eyes twinkling from behind her jet black fringe. “How is…?”

_“Why are you calling me, Billy?”_

_What?_ “What are you talking about?”

_“I haven’t heard from you in ages. None of us have.”_

“Well, a lot happened.” _I think._ Something _happened, anyway._

_“Yeah, no shit! D’you have any idea how scared we all were? It’s like you disappeared or something.”_

Billy almost feels as if he has disappeared and there’s that swelling again. _Shit! Pull it together, Billy! Be a man!_ “Audrey, I’m sorry, I…”

 _“You_ should _be sorry! After what happened to David!”_

 _Oh no!_ “What happened to David? Is he okay? Where is he?”

All he can hear now is a growl that he knows all too well. It’s that signature cat-like growl that lets anyone crossing Audrey’s path know that she is not to be fucked with. “That’s not funny, Hargrove!”

Before another word can be said, Billy’s ears are pierced by the sound of crashing followed by the low-pitched static tone. 

“Hello? Audrey? _Shit!”_

* * *

Max arrives with Steve later that afternoon, carrying mostly books. Old books, many of which have already been well-thumbed. _The Little Prince_ by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, _James and the Giant Peach_ by Roald Dhal, _Flowers in the Attic_ by V.C. Andrews, _Carrie_ by Stephen King, _The Lord of the Flies_ by William Golding, _Jane Eyre_ by Charlotte Brontë, _A Clockwork Orange_ by Anthony Burgess, _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde, _Maurice_ by E.M. Forster, and the list goes on. Of course, _Interview with the Vampire_ is among them and looks as if one more read will be its end. 

One book, in particular, stands out among them. 

“It’s our photo album,” Max explains. “I thought it would be good for you.”

Billy had no idea they even had a photo album. They were never the photo album type, after all, being far from the picture-perfect family. Hell, he barely even remembers any pictures hung on their wall back in California, save for Neil and Susan’s wedding portrait. 

Still, he sits down next to his step-sister, who flips through each page and tells him every picture’s thousand words. Meanwhile, Steve stays in the kitchen making dinner, which Billy can’t wait to gobble up, if for no other reason than to escape the hell that is listening to photo album stories.

“This is my mom,” Max begins. “This is your dad.”

“I think I know what Neil and Susan look like, thank you.”

Max swallows and turns the page. She continues to tell tale after tale of everyday mundanities known to every clean-cut American family. “This one is from my tenth birthday when you gave me my skateboard, remember? Well, _your_ skateboard. You couldn’t afford a new one. I still have it, y’know. It’s seen better days, but I still have it. Oh, and remember this? The time we found a starfish on the beach. We named it Twinkle after the song _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star_.”

“You found it,” Billy corrected. “You named it Twinkle.” 

“Right,” Max cleared her throat and turned another page to find a picture of her eleven-year-old self in an old nightgown with scars on her face and knots in her hair. Standing next to her was a fifteen-year-old Billy in his usual jeans and t-shirt, though the t-shirt bore the face of Michael Myers. “What about this one? It was Halloween and I _really_ wanted to be Regan from _The Exorcist,_ even though I had that stomach bug. You went out to get all that candy and rented all the scary movies that mom and dad wouldn’t let me watch and I ate so much of that candy that I threw up half-way through _Suspiria_ and you said…” 

“‘At least your costume’s authentic.’”

The Hargrove siblings both smile at the memory despite themselves. They both remember that day well. It was the first time they felt like siblings.

Smiling, she points to a picture of Billy with much shorter hair leaning over a shiny blue Camaro. “What about this one? That’s the day dad got you the car you wanted so much. You were so happy that day!”

Of course, Billy remembers that day. It was his sixteenth birthday. He’d wanted a Camaro ever since he saw a picture of the slim, shiny, scarlet car in a magazine when he was nine. For years, he’d begged Neil for one, but the old bastard kept insisting they couldn’t afford one. They could afford a lifetime supply of Jim Beam and a house in California, but they couldn’t afford a Camaro. Then he turned sixteen and got a pair of keys for his birthday. Billy would never forget the rare smile on his father’s face when it was clear he knew what this meant.

“She’s in the garage,” he said and Billy was off like a shot. 

The car was _almost_ everything that he’d imagined it would be: slim and shiny, but not as scarlet as he’d hoped. Instead, it was a baby blue. Not his colour at all, but it was a Camaro.

“She wasn’t cheap,” Neil continued. “So use her responsibly, you hear me?”

Billy insisted that he did.

“I mean it, son. If I ever catch you using this thing recklessly, it won’t just be the car you’ll be saying goodbye to, understood?”

“Understood.”

Billy hates that car now. 

He doesn’t know why, but looking at that big blue hunk of metal fills him with a seething hatred. The more he stares at it, the hotter his cheeks get. Images of broken glass and twisted metal flash in his mind. _Piece of shit!_ A sticky substance moistens between his fingers. _What the hell?_ A hard ground. A strong force. A spider-shaped shadow. Flesh. Blood. Bone. 

“Billy?” 

Without a word, he springs to his feet and marches out the door, slamming it shut. He doesn’t care to listen to either Steve or Max as they call his name. 

“What was that about?”

“I-I-I…I don’t know,” Max stumbles over her words, shaking like a leaf. “I was just showing him some photos ‘cause I thought they’d be good for his memory, so I showed him some happy memories. I showed him a picture that I thought would make him happy, but…I didn’t mean to…”

Steve holds up his hand. “Max, calm down. It’s not your fault. I’ll go and talk to him.”

Turning off the stove, Steve grabs his coat, follows Billy outside, and finds him pacing on the porch. “Hey.”

Billy stops pacing. “Hi.”

 _Be cool, Harrington,_ Steve tells himself. _Robin was only kidding today…right?_ “Is everything okay?”

“Perfectly,” Billy mutters. “Just wasn’t prepared to be babysat by my twelve-year-old stepsister. Or is she thirteen now? Fourteen? Shit, I don’t know how old my step-sister is or when she turned into my fucking mother!”

“She’s just trying to look out for you, man.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I don’t _need_ anyone to look out for me!”

“You sure about that?” Steve takes his car keys from his pocket and dangles them in front of Billy. “Try to find your way back to California on your own, then.”

“Screw you!”

“I mean it. Go on, take ‘em. I’m sure there’s enough gas in my car to get you halfway. You do remember how to drive, don’t you?” 

Billy stares at the keys. He could do it. He could take the keys from this guy’s hands, pack all of his things down to the very last book, and drive off to California. He could see David again, wherever he is, and move to L.A. as they’d planned. He could do it. If he knew his way out.

“Fuck,” Billy growls and slumps down on the porch swing. That same swelling in his throat from earlier today threatens to rear its ugly head. “I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Much to his surprise, Steve sits by Billy’s side. “I go crazy, too, sometimes.”

“You wake up in strange towns after a night of partying?”

“No, except maybe that one time, though how I ended up in a pig farm I’ll never know.” Billy snickers. “In all seriousness, sometimes I have panic attacks so bad that I pass out. I’m always alert, even when I don’t want to be, so much that I have trouble sleeping and if I _do_ get any sleep, I tend to get these nightmares. Like, _really_ bad nightmares. Sometimes they feel so real, I can still see them when I wake up.”

“What happened?”

Steve isn’t sure how to properly answer that question without mentioning Eleven, the Up-Side-Down, the Demogorgon, the Demo-Dogs, or—God help him—the Mindlfayer. “I lost a friend.” _She was dragged into another dimension and eaten by some alien monster._ “She drowned in my parents’ pool.”

“Shit,” Billy's gaze softens. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know. My point is that you’re not alone and you don’t have to go through this alone.” 

Billy nods. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Keep your feet on the ground. I never would have guessed you go through shit like that. How do you stay so…so stable?”

“I find ways to cope. I find time to breathe and monitor myself. Sometimes I find ways to distract myself from it. Being with the people I care about helps the most.”

There’s something strangely sad about the way Billy looks at Steve like he’s everything he is not. His eyes are now locked with his own, as he utters the last words that Steve expected to hear from the mouth of Billy Hargrove: “Teach me?”

Steve’s eyes widen. He thinks a moment. Teach him? How would he teach him? What would he teach him? Would he even be a good teacher? “I’ll try,” he decides. “But first, let’s get you inside. You need to eat something.”

“Can I just stay out here for a little bit? I’ll only be a minute.”

“Okay.”

With that, Steve leaves Billy alone to stare into the unfamiliar woodland space. He smiles weakly to himself and looks to the sky. Strange how he notices that there are more stars in the Hawkins night sky than there ever were in California.


End file.
